If I fell
by mortianna
Summary: Harry takes Severus for a ride. they banter and then - well you know. PWP, slash, R. Prequel to "Even Potionsmasters get the Cold".


When I finished "Even Potions masters get the Cold" there was an idea nagging me in the back of what I call my brain for lack of a better and more appropriate name. Highly influenced by Minx, Cybele and all my other heroes (I don't remember exactly, who has that mentioning of the Quidditch pitch), this piece turned up, quite reluctantly, I have to confess. So here you have it: Smut on the field, or: How it all began ... Harry's POV

SS/HP, slash, smut, nearly PWP, R

Disclaimer: The usual – do you think if I was JKR and owned these boys, I would have to play with them like that? Surely not. See.

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If I fell

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If I give my heart to you, 

I must be sure from the very start

Harry felt the body of the other man behind him. So near. So damned near. So god-forsakenly damned near. He hoped it would be possible to get them to the ground in one piece. His body sure felt like it was about to burst. His heart pounded and his cock throbbed. 

He was used to this. It was quite normal after a real good Quidditch match. Usually he would take himself into a nice private bathroom and indulge a little.

Not this time. 

The other man had come to him and just watched. Well, watched and glared and given him just a hint of the heat his dark robes radiated. 

Harry had stared back. And then, with his pulse nearing 100 percent of his heart rate, he had just grabbed the hand of the man and taken him onto his broomstick. And the man had complied. He had not yet stopped wondering about that. 

There had been something between them from the very start, nearly ten years ago. He had been a child then, of course. And the other man his teacher. The worst of all. And the best.

And there had been even more between them since he had come back, a teacher now himself. Even he himself didn't believe that yet. Well, the others seemed to believe it readily enough, it was himself who had the most problems with it. 

Well, and the other man of course. What was to be expected. 

They had been avoiding meeting each other, avoiding noticing each other. But why was the need to try to avoid a person there? If you were completely indifferent to a person, you wouldn't avoid them actively. You just wouldn't notice. Harry was acutely aware that he noticed the other man. His body did too.

He had been aware, too, of the staff as an audience. For some strange reason everybody seemed to watch him and the other man. Well, he was used to it, somehow. He had been watched from the moment he entered this school. With his history being as it was, the boy who had been locked up in a cupboard, he had relished it. At times. But he had never liked being there only for the entertainment of others.

The others seemed to wait. Wait for something to happen. Well, the air was not full of spices between him and Snape. But which air ever was, where Snape was concerned?

It was not as if he had a special relationship completely different to those from others with the man. Or so he thought. Snape was the man he always had been before, as his teacher. Never giving him the attention everybody else seemed determined to heap upon him, but instead making up for all of that with scathing remarks.

It had been worse and better, of course. Worse, because he was not so sure of himself as a teacher. Coming back to a school and to colleagues who had taught him as a student. He was rather insecure, much more than his Gryffindor courage ever would allow him to show.

And better because he was not the frightened child of old anymore. He had learned some things in life, and loved this school and felt at home here of all places. He wouldn't let Snape interfere with his holy wish to give the new generation something of that, too.

And so it had been. Banter, snide remarks and nothing much besides. Deliberate ignorance of the other would have been the right term. If the other wouldn't have been recognised despite his will. He more often than not found himself staring at that frown, that hair, that nose. Snape hadn't changed and would give him a really evil stare when he caught him watching. But strangely enough Snape hadn't scolded him loudly on these rare occasions but simply stared and looked away quickly and left Harry with a peculiar feeling he didn't want to analyse.

And then came the Quidditch match. 

Harry was made referee, Madam Hooch being only too willing to get a break after all these years of being the only one knowing the rules by heart and having the stamina to stay on a broomstick as long as it took, even if it was weeks.

The game was an especially nasty one. Harry had had no opportunity to revise his opinion of Slytherin players being completely ruthless and sly on the side. He had never been a referee, and he came to the conclusion he didn't much like being one either. 

More than once he only made it with one of his more artistic stunts. He recalled one especially spectacular near downfall, when a bludger beaten by one of the Slytherin beaters hit him. He made it with the power of his legs and his will, but barely. And when he was in the relative safety of striding his broom again, he fell into those eyes.

Those dark pitch-black pools. Resting on him. Engulfing him. 

And he fell again. Deeper and deeper. Hopeless, really. And he still had that sinking feeling. He felt like in a maelstrom, all his nerve ends were on fire, his brain as awake as never before, and drowning. And loving it. 

There was a place to land. He gave his broomstick a slight push and it turned back to the earth willingly. They landed softly, Harry was quite proud of it. It was a dismal place, come to think of it, but thinking was just not the thing Harry wanted to set about to just now. It was dark, and raining, and windy, and the other man's clothes billowed around him without his doing anything. And it was safe. Safe from the obtrusive eyes of the world. 

He turned closer to the other man, whose black strands of hair were waving in the wind, torn by it, hitting his face with a force that must have hurt. The black eyes glared as only they could. 

"Now what exactly did you bring me here for, Mr. Potter? Show me your admirable proficiency with a broomstick? I am not impressed." The voice of the man was clearly discernible for Harry, in all parts of his body. Strange, was it not, as the wind was so hard. The man was a wizard, after all.

Not trusting his own voice to be as effective as Snape's, Harry stepped a bit closer into the darkness. "Pity. But you will, Professor, you will." He felt the heat radiating off the other man, could very nearly feel his body contours, so close was he. And that eyebrow. 

"Really, Mr. Potter, what on earth could induce you to believe that?" That voice was everywhere over his whole body. 

"Erm, intuition?" Harry felt his mouth curl involuntarily. Someone must be rubbing off on him. He suddenly liked this game. And then again: Not. The weather was far too nasty for playing games. After playing Quidditch. 

The mouth of the other man curled, too. Not involuntarily – Harry would never believe that. He couldn't think of a situation where the man was not completely himself and in control of himself. Well, he could, but he wouldn't. He was more of a practical person.

"Intuition?" The dark voice melted like chocolate on the stove, coating Harry all over and inside with its heady sweetness. Strange, if one thought about it. It had been cold a moment before, now Harry felt as if the hot chocolate were flooding his whole system, pumping through his veins under the command of his rapidly beating heart. 

"I never thought you were of the intuitive kind", the chocolate was shot with brandy, like a very strong and intoxicating drink. And had Snape just said that he had thought about him? Harry felt like in a hot bath. Well, in a hot bath with greedy fingers and tongues attacking him. He felt that he was blushing furiously. He couldn't help it and thanked whomever for the darkness that surrounded them.

He managed to hold his eyes open, though, and not give in completely to the voice. If it went on like that a little longer, there would be no need for hot baths or fingers. Or tongues. Harry wetted his lips. "I always thought you were so completely rational and reasonable." Harry blinked. The chocolate had glazed over. 

He snorted. "And I always thought you had a sense of humour but kept it well-hidden. Now what is that all about?" Harry had suddenly become very tired of all this. It was like in class and he would be hanged if he let the man torture him just like before. Well, not like he did then. He was grown-up now and whatever it was that was there between them, had to be dealt with in a grown-up way.

The chocolate began flowing again and came closer. "You – tell – me, Potter. You brought me here, kidnapped me, one could say. So, in words that must be clear as daylight even to you: What do you want with me?"

Harry gulped. There was something there that couldn't be handled in a grown-up way. Part of him wanted to whimper like a child. Part of him, well, grew. And grew. And grew still.

Oh, to hell. This was not to be endured any longer. The man could play him like a harp. He could as well admit it and suffer his fate. Hopefully, Snape would use his own hands to strangle him instead of just cursing him. He stepped closer. Close enough to give Snape an idea of just how grown-up he was. He prided himself quite a bit on that part of his anatomy. There had never been complaints, only wide-eyed stares and – approval. 

Of course Snape wouldn't make it that easy. Sod the man. He showed him his extreme proficiency with eyebrows. "Mr. Potter, I take it that my impression of you being more the practical than the thinking type is not completely off?"

Harry just panted and stood. As still as he managed. He could feel the heat radiating from the other man. Heat and something more. It felt as if he was not the only one grown-up here. Of course the penetrating glare didn't give anything away. It was as cold and deep and unfathomable as ever. Harry longed to see that face enraptured, he needed it, it was his one goal in life. Something to live for. Hopefully not something to wait for much longer. 

Harry wetted his lips. "Take a bet, Professor?" He could do whisper too. Something he had learned in his years in the cupboard. Whispering to himself was sometimes the only sound he heard for days. Well, that was a thought to cool down some of the excess steam. He'd never thought that he'd feel thankful to the Dursleys for their methods of upbringing some day. 

The eyebrow that had tortured him for years, went up. "A bet, Potter? You brought me here in the middle of nowhere to have your illegal and immoral ways with me? Are you a gambler?"

Harry couldn't hide the smirk. It illuminated the face of the other man as well. "Terrible. Chance rules my life. Taking chances that is." 

"I gathered that much from the stunts you pulled during your school years", was the dry answer. Harry went on. He would not let old memories intrude and destroy right now. "Talking of having my way with you – nothing illegal, I think. I looked it up." 

The dark eyes gleamed in the white face. "Did you? How interesting. Showing some promising studiousness after all these years, Potter?"

"Well, you know", Harry licked his lips again. He knew it didn't help but he simply had to. "I always liked to study when the object was fascinating." Was he really doing that? Playing thick innuendo with Snape of all people? He must be roaring screaming mad. On the other hand: His body was in a state that didn't further thinking in the human male. And he was very human. And male. 

He had the feeling the black eyes gleamed even more, were about to devour him, pull him into their depths. He wasn't the one to resist. "And the object is fascinating enough for you, Potter? Are you sure? Not too – slimy? Or greasy? Or in any other way – off-putting?"

Harry gulped and jumped. His hand reached out without his will and touched the hair of the Potions master very lightly. It couldn't be called a caress, not quite. The black eyes flared. Harry pretended to think. "No, I think not. Not too greasy." His hand decided to stay where it was and let the fingers wander a little. Over the white skin that wasn't too slimy either. 

"I'm extremely pleased that I meet the requirements of famous Harry Potter. That I live to see the day – well, I owe that to you, don't I?" The silence grew strong between the two men. Harry thought that Snape was thinking about the same thing he did. The night when he found Snape at the feet of Voldemort, and somehow brought him out of that hell. Well, another ice bucket could only help his more than youthful condition. But he couldn't let Snape get on with destroying the mood. That he had noticed Snape's – charms – didn't mean he was blind to his shortcomings. And Snape was much older, still.

Harry was induced to get on with it. The black head held completely still under his fingers. Only the eyes seemed to grow and grow deeper in darkness and meaning. They fluttered now under his gaze, but only a little. They came back and held their ground under his hungry stare. "See, they aren't even immoral, my ways", he tried hard not to tremble, none of him. "Not in the wizard world, and not now that we are both teachers."

A gush of hot breath bathed his face as Snape snorted. "Pity, Potter. What makes you believe I would be interested in a bet neither immoral nor illegal?" Harry was taken aback as much by the words as by the sound. It nearly was as if Snape was playing with him, not to use the word flirt. Flirting with his Slytherin image, no less. "Would it break the mood if I said, the fact that you haven't yet bitten off rather important parts of me has given me the impression you bark more than bite?"

Another soft snort was caressing Harry's face. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and bathe in the breath of the man and simply die of pleasure. Who would have thought the greasy bastard, okay, the not so greasy ex-bastard, had a breath as fresh and sweet as a baby? Another beaker of cold water on his outstretched organ that thought was. He never was one to molest children. Very welcome though and not really hindering, as his fingers still caressed the man's face. His eyes viewed them in awe. How very Gryffindor his fingers were.

And how very Slytherin the other man was. Slithering like a snake, the regale head had neared his, and the hot breath bathed his ear now, while the long black and not so greasy tresses caressed Harry's face. "I can do bite too, Mr. Potter, if the necessity arises. Don't doubt that."

"I'd never dream of doubting you". Harry had difficulty breathing. Damned. He had had his fair amount of affairs in the outer world. How could it be that Snape breathing in his ear could make him feel so limp and helpless and his trousers that snug? It was not fair!

The dark deep chuckle that filled his ear made his condition worse. "You're such a cute little liar, Mr. Potter, are you not? And have always been? Not so very Gryffindor of you". Harry gulped. Had Snape called him cute just now? He must have a hearing deficiency only just discovered. And if he hadn't: In which sense did Snape mean cute? Cute as nails, cute as ... Never mind, the word alone, spoken by Snake and in connection with him, Harry Potter, would have brought down the ancient walls of Hogwarts. It had been very good of him to bring the Professor here for this remarkable confession. Well, on second thought: Snape would perhaps never have said a word to him in Hogwarts, let alone the word cute. 

"Never mind my being Gryffindor just once, Professor", was his rather weak reply. "No soul is lost completely". Perhaps not, but he would be lost very soon if Snape kept doing what he did there. It was just breathing, he told himself, and even Snape must breathe, mustn't he? But his doing it in his ear and against the skin of his neck and his throat and his chin and his cheek was rather disconcerting. 

"Getting philosophical, now, Potter? Spare me, I beg you." The words were as insulting as ever, but the deliverance went straight into Harry's groin. He thanked the gods if there were any that Snape hadn't done that in class. He would have died a very early death and spared Voldemort much trouble. 

"Right", Harry said with an effort. "You haven't come here for my conversational skills, now have you?" Another gush of hot air rewarded him. "How very astute of you. What gave you the hint?" Harry shivered. "You made it quite clear that you thought me a scatterbrained nuisance from the first day onwards, Professor. Not worth your considerable skill and efforts."

Another breath. "O did I, Potter? And what makes you believe that I would be more impressed by skills other than conversational you claim to have?" Harry's fingers grabbed the hair they were fondling. He recognized his cue. "Right", he said, trying to make his voice sound as normal as he could. "That was the bet, wasn't it?"

He didn't see it coming when a strong and surprisingly soft hand landed on the connection of his shoulder and neck. It was not his own hand. Harry gulped. "Forgive my obliviousness, Potter. What exactly was that bet?" The voice had gone even softer and lower and darker. Harry had gone harder and limper respectively in different bodily regions. 

"I bet you that I can and will impress you with my proficiency on a – well, not to stretch that image further, with my proficiency."

"Really", the fingers of the hand lying on Harry's shoulder gave only the faintest hint of moving at the side of his neck, "what a strange idea." There was a pause in which the fingers moved just a little. "Letting aside all questions of how on earth you come to proposing such a strange bet, tell me, what do you do if you loose?"

"I won't", Harry said with his voice and legs shaking just a little. Those fingers were hot and this just-not-touch maddening. The fingers grabbed his throat. It hurt, a bit. 

"So self-confident", murmured Snape and loosened his grip. The fingers resumed their half-stroking. "But I insist it be done correctly. Humour me, just a little, Potter. What will you do if you loose?"

The fingers drove Harry mad. The fingers and the voice and the closeness of the heat of the man. "Be your slave for the weekend," he murmured. "You can do with me what you want. Let me grade all these abominable potions papers. Degrade me in front of all the others. Well, generally have your way with me."

The fingers stopped again. "Intriguing premise", Snape breathed. "Not as if I couldn't do most of the things without this bet. But okay. Not to heighten the stakes any further." Another low chuckle and the fingers moved again, now just about not stroking Harry's chin. "What am I supposed to do, if – you – win?"

Harry hadn't thought that far. Now that he thought of it, it would be quite enough to win, thank you very much. Either way. He searched in his blank brain. "Erm, as one of your issues with me seems to have been my Muggle upbringing, why not live one weekend as a Muggle?" That would just serve the man right, for all the fights of their past, Harry thought. That he wanted to jump the man, badly, didn't mean he forgave him each and everything. 

The fingers and the breathing stopped. "How very – depraved –of you. You very nearly deserve to have been in Slytherin for that suggestion", Snape said after a pause that heightened Harry's anxiety to a nearly shivering nervousness. "But as you observed so rightly. I wasn't much impressed with your conversational skills. So chances are, I won't be much impressed with those other skills you circumscribed so elusively."

Some breathing was done, some finger stroking. On each side. Then the dark chocolate voice was directly in Harry's ear again. "Besides: I could always lie, could I not, Potter?" Harry knew he was an idiot. He had never thought of that. Well, he had been more interested in the fulfilment of the bet itself, and rather less with the aftermath. Harry thought it wasn't worth the effort to answer, he would feel it, if Snape was lying after all, when a hot mouth clamped on his throat. "So show me, Potter", he heard the voice of the Potions master rather faintly through the white noise in his ears.

And Harry set to work. His shivering hands opened the robe of the other man without meeting resistance. The hot mouth on his neck sucked harder. He would have a hickey, the next day, he knew it. A hickey by Snape. He groaned and tore open the whatever that was called Snape wore under the robe. And the shirt beneath. And finally found skin. Naked skin. White naked smooth and creamy skin. Harry shivered and tore away his eyes from the feast before him to look into the eyes of the man. They were watching him with less amusement than possible.

"Five points for resolution and dedication to the task, Potter", that voice murmured. Harry couldn't suppress a smirk. The bastard took the game further. Well, let him do it as long as he could. Would not be for long, though. "Unfortunately I have to take one point away for hastiness and demolition. And one point for doing it in the wrong order."

"What?", cried Harry. "What wrong order?" He could see the teeth of the man which gave him an idea. They were not gleaming white, but not as nasty as he had thought as a child. "Your mouth was occupied elsewhere. And I rather liked what it was doing. So I didn't want to intrude."

The dark eyes bore into him. "Is that so, Mr. Potter? How very obliging of you. One point for courtesy." Harry found it hard to swallow, now that he had the idea, the rather haunting idea, to kiss the lips that had heaved abuse on abuse upon him for years. 

"Which makes it – what, four points, altogether? How much is that on a scale of your being – intrigued?" Harry shivered again under the eyes that came closer, the nose that very nearly touched his, the dark tresses caressing his cheeks.

"Never mind the points, Potter", the voice caressed him again. "You will be in no doubt as to my satisfaction. Trust me. And now: Get - on - with - it." And Harry did. And earned his points one for one. Diligently. 

First back to the mouth. Harry decided, rather vaguely, that he liked what Snape could do with his mouth. Really. He wouldn't have thought so as a first year, but he had grown. And Snape seemed to like what Harry could do, if Harry surmised correctly that panting breaths, heaving chest, and a hardness poking him in his belly were no signs for the Potions master being mad at him. Or – disappointed. When Harry let go of the surprisingly soft lips with a soft 'plop', the sound that escaped said lips sounded more like despair. 

Harry grinned rather wickedly. He had learned a lot about kissing in his trysts with both twins at the same time. Stamina, for once. A lung capacity of a world class athlete. Had done him loads of good, really. He could kiss Snape within an inch of his death and still smile. In fact, Snape seemed to practically beg for it, if the desperate grip he held Harry's hair in and the lips urging his own to open were any hint.

Deep wet kisses. Exploring hot silky caverns. Deep deep down. When they came up for air again, both moaned. Harry looked into the black eyes and swallowed. He had to get on with it or die. He grabbed the robe of the man and tore it open. It seemed to him that Snape had enough body heat to counter the wet cold around. And if he hadn't, he himself would give him some of his. Completely altruistic Gryffindor that he was. 

Snape pulled away his lips at the sound of his buttons leaving his robes rather violently. His lips seemed to have a will on their own, though, and before he could utter something nasty as "Fifty points from Gryffindor", Harry had caught them again and his tongue was down the other man's throat, pushing deeply. Snape made a gurgling sound and pulled him closer. Harry grinned wickedly gleeful again. 

His hands roamed about the body of the other man. All that intoxicating flesh, all his to devour. Snape made small whimpering noises that went directly into Harry's lower regions when he twitched his nipples. His hands did that rather nicely, Harry thought foggily. Stroking, calming, teasing, fondling, pinching. Interchangeably. Almost. 

Or not. He sank to his knees when Snape's hands trembled too much to hold him near, and breathed onto the lower belly of the man, where a trail of soft hair led down into the pants that were hugging slim hips. Must be held up by something else than buttons, Harry thought dizzily while his throat constricted and his mouth watered at the sight in front, otherwise his spell would have sent them down to the earth where they belonged. Soon. But there was something said for delay. Just a little. 

The bulge behind the soft black cloth, that hung precariously low on the hips beckoned him nearer. Harry obeyed. He trailed his thumb up and down. From up where the man's head must be somewhere, there came a low hiss. Despite being a Parseltongue, Harry couldn't make out words. But he could guess the meaning well enough. He grinned smugly and dug his nail into the fabric of the cloth. Snape stood motionless and then bucked against the thumb and into the hand behind.

Harry got to his feet again. After all, the earth was rather dirty. And cold, now that he came to think of it. And he desperately needed a kiss, he felt like going cold turkey already. Gods! What should become of this? Would he be addicted to Snape, trotting down into the dungeons during class, making up excuses for getting the man into a dark corridor, or even hexing students, just to get a kiss of him? Or more?

A low groan. "I don't know what you are thinking, Potter, but do you reckon it is the right moment to begin a habit that alien to you just about now?" Harry must have stopped moving while thinking. Thank god for the darkness. Snape needn't see him blush. Harry made up for his momentary lapse by getting his tongue down the throat of the man with renewed vigour. Snape didn't protest. In fact he made more of these sweet gurgling noises and rubbed his body rather desperately at Harry. Who smirked evilly, but couldn't help being a bit impressed himself. It seemed to be a rather big endeavour he had settled out to. It definitely felt like it.

His hands roamed the torso of the other man again. Snape's hands were folded behind his own back, bull-headed, obstinate man. But Harry felt rather telling movements in the tense muscles of the upper arms. Snape wasn't going to make it too easy for him to win, but he didn't make it easy for himself either. Well, there was something to be said for character, Harry thought, even for an evil one. "Try to resist as much as you can", he whispered into the ear nearest to him. "Won't help you in the end. I will hear you moan and scream". He licked the ear for good measure and felt the biceps muscles constrict fervently. 

"Intriguing idea, Potter", the silky voice was a little breathless, wasn't it? "But I live to see action, not just talking. Your mouth is promising great things, but are you really up to it? This still remains to be seen." Trust the bastard to speak in rhyme even when aroused to a degree in that every other man would become a babbling idiot. 

Harry was not to be disturbed. Much. He trusted his talents. His mouth was an asset, even if the man in front of him wasn't one of his fans yet. "Trust me, Professor, my mouth can do great things you would never suspect." Well, all this talk became even more idiotic than usual, but who had begun with the talking? A chuckle. "Words, Potter, words and more words."

Well, that was as much an invitation as he ever was to get. Harry got down on his knees again, cold earth or not, and set to the task in earnest. He outlined the bulge behind the cloth with careful fingers. It felt hot, so hot. And a little wet. He tried to remain calm. Someone must be the calm one here. And that had to be him, if he wanted to win. Well, he didn't need to win, he just wanted to convince Snape of his merits. Right. And he better stopped thinking and begin doing anything. His thinking abilities had never intrigued his colleague. Harry snorted against the bulk. It seemed to like it, reached out to him, as if yearning for more attention. Now, how convenient, that that was just what he wanted to do.

He searched for the opening device these pants were sporting. Oh, how very modern. One more button, and a zip. He brushed the length that was clearly straining against its confinement with his chin, eager to get to the first button. His tongue insisted on licking it. Perverted little thing. Then he opened it with his teeth. He had learned that when – never mind, it came in handy right now, to impress the man he had wanted to impress for some time. And it worked, he could feel that clearly against his chin.

Then came the zip, and the trousers fell down, down to the earth where they weren't in the way of – things. Snape's erection sprang free. Harry had to catch his breath, rather violently. No underwear, nothing. How very – intriguing, especially on a man who seemed to be wearing layers and layers of clothes. 

Harry noticed as through the fog that was crawling under his robe, that his fingernails dug into the slim thighs of Snape and that there was a noise from upstairs. It didn't seem outraged. Harry took another deep breath and extricated one hand out of the tortured flesh of his former teacher. And applied it to the flesh to be tortured. He was rewarded with a gasp from high above. He grinned smugly, but was overcome with the grandness of the task at hand. He had prided himself on his anatomy, alright, but Snape didn't need to hide either. His mouth turned dry and he had to swallow. Well, there was something he could do about that. Harry pushed his head forward.

And Snape did scream. Oh yes. Rather noisily. Wonderfully throatily. Lastingly. Hoarsely. Harry grinned around the hot twitching flesh in his mouth. This was reward enough. Reward for all the years this man had tortured him. Reward for the months of ignorance and pretended indifference. He would never forget the feeling of Snape bucking in his mouth, his hips thrusting urgently, his hands pulling at Harry's hair, and the sound his voice made when he came, cracking. That paid him rather well for his ministrations. He swallowed all he could and set back on his heels. Well, there was something left to be done. Even if his soul was satisfied with Snape crying out his name, his body was only more – intrigued. Hot and intrigued. Hot and hard and desperate.

Harry could feel the other man pant like a race horse. He stroked the quivering legs soothingly. Would not do if Snape passed out, here, in the middle of nowhere, on a cold and damp field. Then again, Harry felt a grin open his mouth. Well, the thought of Snape on the ground had something. Really, it did. The legs seemed to become stable, the panting less ragged. Harry felt his hopes grow higher. Then another hand slapped away his stroking hands. Oh, Snape seemed to have recovered alright. 

"Enough of the youthful histrionics already, Potter", growled the Potions master and pulled Harry upwards at his hair. "You won, I admit that much. Does that meet your approval?" Harry nodded. Well, it did, but approval was not something his body seemed satisfied with. It protested rather urgently. Don't forget me, his member seemed to scream. It pressed against the confinement of his trousers like the Gryffindor lion put in a cage. Nice image, that, by the way. The lion at the mercy of the snake. Oh, well. 

Snape growled again and put him closer. Strange. He could have sworn, there was still something that needed attention on the other man. Still, or – again. Harry looked at Snape, puzzled. Snape cocked that eyebrow at him. His voice was back to dark menace central. "Now for the sake of all that is holy for the boy who lived, get on with it. Or I swear I will put an end to that name of yours. And be assured, I can do it."

Harry gulped. Really, who would have thought Snape had such stamina? Not that he was about to complain. Not really. "Never doubted that", Harry whispered into the ear nearest to him. "Okay, I won. You won too, already, even if you won't admit it. And I won't threaten your sensitivity, such as it is, with going into details. But there is something I will be going into and soon. Just about now, I think". And Harry pushed the other man down to the ground, once again thankful that he was stronger than he looked, and threw himself on top of Snape. Doing away with all superfluous cloth that had survived the former treatment and preparing himself with a few quick strokes with the goo that had escaped his mouth and was now sticking to his fingers, he finally reached his goal of today. He didn't call snitch, though. He was much too awe-stricken for that, even if he wouldn't admit it. To no one. Not under torture. Then again – he could think of some things he would love Snape to do to him. But not just now. Young as he was, the location of their passionate encounter had got to him. He shivered now, and that wasn't just nerves. No after-play for today. Well, not more than there had been already.

"Bless you", he said thoughtlessly, searching for his clothes. He knew he had worn a shirt under his robe, he always did. A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "That, Mr. Potter, will surely not happen. You have triumphed at last. Enjoy it. You killed me after all." Harry could feel the glaring on his bare chest. He shivered again.

"Oh come on, not so bad as all that, Sev", he explained, putting on his soaked shirt. "Only a small cold. Nothing that can't be cured with – oh". A understanding smile spread on his face. 

Anther growl, sounding not only miffed but – throttled. "Exactly, Potter. Oh. I have lost and now I have to cope with it. But believe me", and the throaty voice crawled over Harry's already goose-pimpled skin, and Snape's hands were closing around his neck, "I will make you pay."

Harry felt a grin tug at his lips he couldn't and wouldn't suppress. "Right. I'd love to. Pay. But not just now. Come." And Harry pressed a chaste kiss on the thin lips that trembled with some subdued feeling or other and pushed the man onto his broom, sitting down next to him, and brought the broom up into the sky. To Hogwarts. And into a new life that seemed to be quite promising. If paid for with a cold and some minor infractions to his clothes. Harry smiled happily into the cloak of the other man, nuzzling his nose into the black cloth. "Bless you", he said again, without thinking. He couldn't hear the answer. It was taken away by the wind and the clouds. Harry felt warm and secure on his broom with Severus Snape in front. Cold or not, that man was so – his.

- The end – 

(A sequel to this is "Even Potions masters get the Cold")


End file.
